


Won't Someone Please Arrest This Man

by babzilla



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ageism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen, I Blame Tumblr, Insensitive Viewpoints Towards Someone Perceived To Be Having Mental Health Issues, POV Outsider, Time Loop, but it’s palpatine so, no beta we die like men, not the stupidest thing I have ever written, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27087463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babzilla/pseuds/babzilla
Summary: Two days after the Battle of Coruscant, the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic walks into the Jedi Temple intent on turning himself in.Now if only someone would arrest him...
Comments: 42
Kudos: 143





	Won't Someone Please Arrest This Man

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: people don’t have a very sympathetic opinion on an old person presumably experiencing some sort of mental/medical distress, but again— it’s Palpatine. One mention of an incident with a drug user which is, again, quite insensitive.

It starts at the Temple gates.

“I’ve had enough.”

The Jedi Temple Guard blinks silently behind their mask, too well-trained to move or show any outward sign of incredulity.

The man continues, “I’m here to turn myself in.”

Across the distance of the gates, their fellow Temple Guard’s confusion pings off their mental shields, but they can sense no ill will from the man before them.

A moment’s silence turns to three, turns to five, and when no further explanation is forthcoming, they conclude that it’s just one of those days and decide to wash their hands of the whole thing. 

They gesture to the open doors at their back. “You can go through to the front atrium to access the public help desk, Supreme Chancellor. They’ll be able to direct you.”

“Very well,” the man answers grimly, proceeding forward as directed.

The Temple Guards don’t speak, and they don’t wonder at the odd behaviour. That’s not in their job description.

But they do play a silent game of ‘not it’ to determine who gets the dubious honour of sending an urgent memo to the atrium to report the incident.

—

It carries on at the front desk.

“I have come to turn myself in,” says the unmistakable figure of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, his grave tone attracting the attention of a group of younglings on their way out to a field trip to Coruscant’s Galactic Museum of Naturalist History.

The Front Desk Jedi—their official title—smiles serenely and very unsubtly Force-nudges the equally transfixed Crèche-Master that’s supposed to be escorting the younglings on their outing.

“Is there anyone in particular you would like to speak to about that, Supreme Chancellor?” They ask, expression perfectly bland as they split their attention between the extremely important political figure standing in front of them who has clearly lost his mind, the Crèche-Master who is only making a token effort to corral their curious charges in an effort to learn more about this incredibly gossip-worthy development, and the tourist lingering by a display of benign historical artefacts that is clearly a novice thief who has forgotten they’re standing in a building inhabited almost exclusively by telepaths.

“Can I turn myself in to you?” The Chancellor replies, equally bland.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to accept anyone’s surrender on behalf of the Republic,” the Front Desk Jedi says, affecting the genuine-sounding regret that’s expected in public-facing positions when giving someone information they don’t want to hear.

“But,” they carry on blithely, eager to make this someone else’s problem. “I can direct you to Commander Stone of the Coruscant Guard who is on Temple Liaison today— they’ll be more than capable of handling your request. If you just give me a moment, I can issue you with a visitor’s pass and direct you to their office.”

“If you must,” the old politician sniffs, beginning to project an air of impatience.

Tapping double-time on their keyboard, they have a new visitor’s pass printed in five seconds flat.

“Here you go, sir,” they say lightly, slapping the tagged flimsi-plast bracelet onto the Chancellor’s wrist before the man can argue. “You’ll need to take the elevator at the end of the hall to the twenty-seventh floor, turn left then left again, turn right at the second Nautolan fountain, go down to the third mezzanine floor, turn right at the statue of Master Worror Dowmat, go to the end of the hallway with the mural to the Second Invasion of Coruscant (Pre-Ruusan Reformation Era), go up the flight of steps directly on your left and then you’ll find Commander Stone’s office is the nineteenth door on the right.”

There is a moment of silence where the Front Desk Jedi and the Chancellor stare unblinkingly at each other, deadlocked.

“Very well,” the man nods, turning away with a great sweep of his heavy ceremonial robes.

“The other hall, Chancellor— the other hall!” The Front Desk Jedi says in a carrying voice, watching as the politician immediately tries to go in the wrong direction.

“Thank you!” The man barks shortly, spinning on his heel and making for the right elevator this time.

“Have a nice day!” The Front Desk Jedi calls after them absentmindedly as they disappear into the crowd, already focusing back on the naive fool of a Bothan who is thinking it would be very easy to smuggle a three foot tall Post-Reformation Ceremonial Tabernacle past the Temple Guards who have fully functioning eyes.

—

It continues with Commander Stone who runs into the Supreme Chancellor on the fifth mezzanine on his way back from a meeting with the Jedi High Council in the Temple Spire.

The man is standing at one of the many statues of historically significant Jedi Masters dotted around the Temple, glaring down at the small figure of an alien species not much bigger than General Yoda, though the figure is missing the long pointed ears.

“Are you here for a meeting, Supreme Chancellor?” Commander Stone asks, stepping up to the Commander of the Grand Armies of the Republic and snapping off a crisp salute.

“No,” the man says, turning slowly away from the statue, an expression on his face that suggests he’s encountered a rather bad smell. “I’m here to turn myself in.”

Stone blinks, glad he had replaced his helmet after leaving his meeting with the Jedi Council.

“I was told to come see you about my surrender,” the Chancellor says, as if he’s commenting on the weather.

Right.

So it’s going to be one of _those_ days.

“I see,” he answers glibly, knowing exactly what to do.

“Sir, if you’ll just come with me.”

—

It goes on at the Halls of Healing when Commander Stone presents the Chancellor directly to Master Healer of the Jedi Order, Vokara Che.

The Twi’lek Jedi Master watches the two men with a totally blank expression that Stone knows the Jedi—as a unified monolith—only affect when they are being incredibly and scathingly judgmental.

Well, he’s about to win the Coruscant Guard’s pot for throwing the Jedi for a goddamn loop.

“Sir, please repeat your request for Master Che,” Stone prompts, gesturing formally to the Jedi and making sure that his helmet cam is on and fully-functioning.

The Supreme Chancellor heaves a deep sigh, as if _they’re_ the ones who have had a mental break.

“I am here to turn myself in,” the man enunciates clearly.

Master Che’s face performs a complicated manoeuvre in which it scrunches up with a rapid mix of emotions while only projecting tepid concern for the people around her.

“I see,” she says, clearly not seeing, but experienced enough in her chosen vocation to know what to say in order to keep a patient who is experiencing mental distress calm and cooperative.

“Chancellor,” she says after a moment, rallying admirably. “If you would be kind enough to follow me to a private room? Then we can discuss the matter in more detail.”

She courteously ushers the older man towards a side room, the Chancellor going along placidly enough. Behind his back, she throws an urgent look to Stone, the tips of her long lekku twitching and curling into a close approximation of basic GAR hand-signals.

CALL - COMMAND - NOW.

Stone employs his vast reserves of military discipline to keep from snorting.

She doesn’t have to tell him twice.

—  
  


It progresses when Generals Windu, Kolar, and Fisto of the Jedi High Council converge upon the Chancellor’s private room in the Halls of Healing, Commander Stone still observing the odd occurance with his helmet cam recording and rapidly tapping out messages to Commander Fox (who is missing the most interesting thing to ever happen on Temple Duty on the exact day that he had traded in his shift with Stone).

“Good, you’re here,” the Chancellor says immediately upon the Generals entering the room. “I’m turning myself in.”

Stone doesn’t want to know how the man ended up on the fifth mezzanine where the Commander found him, but the old man’s clearly lost his patience with the whole ordeal.

He’ll have to see if he can get the security cam footage. If nothing else it would keep the Corrie Guard entertained for weeks to come.

“And why are you turning yourself in, Chancellor?” Says General Windu, finally asking the million credit question.

“Because I am the Sith Lord you’ve utterly failed to identify for over ten years,” the politician states waspishly, his posture still open and relaxed and sounding very much not like a Sith Lord.

“And why do you believe you are the Sith Lord, Chancellor?” General Fisto asks next, earning a sharp look from Master Che.

The old man’s expression finally sours at that. “I don’t _believe_ that I am the Sith Lord, you blithering idiot— I _am_ the Sith Lord.”

Clearly angered, his voice now comes out in a hissing croak, his eyes blood-shot and yellow.

Unusual for the man, Stone would admit. But, he notes with faint disgust, probably not unusual for someone of the old man’s age who is highly likely to be off their meds. Old people were weird like that.

Stone wouldn’t know, of course. But he was assuming.

Looked gross, in any case.

Whatever the cause, the Chancellor certainly wasn’t helping the case for his continued sanity as he went on:

“I keep killing you, or you keep killing me— but it never sticks. I’ve had you shot, I’ve had you bombed, I’ve had you thrown out of an airlock. I’ve poisoned you! I’ve released mutant womp rats into your Temple!”

“And always—!” He inhales through grit teeth, baring raw red gums.

Stone grimaces behind his helmet. _Super_ gross.

“Always the cycle starts again!” He raises his arms, hands flexed into stiff claws. He’s shaking quite violently, Stone notes absently, ticking off yet another symptom of experiencing a major medical incident.

He would find it a little sad— that is, if his work in the Coruscant Guard hadn’t rendered him numb to the various and sundry (disgusting) conditions that were wont to affect any major population living in a powder-keg like the Capital of the Galactic Republic.

Still, this was going to play merry hell with the war effort. And so soon after the Battle of Coruscant, too.

Stone shook his head, that’s what happened when political leaders were so old… Look at what happened to the Count— Anakin Skywalker had finally done him in and last Stone had heard, Skywalker was still having trouble with _Ventress_.

“Alright, Chancellor, if you’d like to just sit down for a moment—” Master Che says, interrupting the flow of the old man’s ranting.

“No, I don’t want to sit down, you vacuous heap of— just arrest me already! Death would be better than this hell! I’m tired of dealing with you miserable, pathetic, incompetent, blind, weak, idiotic—”

The Jedi patiently allow the old man to continue shouting adjectives at them until he tires himself out. Stone thought that that, more than anything, showed definitively that the Jedi were possessed of mystical, other-worldly powers than any amount of jumping off tall buildings without jet packs ever could. At the rate he was going, Fox would have tased the man two minutes ago.

(Thorn would have done it back on the mezzanine. Stone missed Thorn.)

“Chancellor, we are simply concerned for your health—” General Kolar begins, his hands still folded primly into his sleeves.

“I’ll show you concern—!”

And then the old man flicks his wrists, two identical cylinders shooting into his hands.

Lulled into a sense of security by the peaceful atmosphere of the Halls of Healing, the movement rudely shocks Stone back to reality.

“Weapon!” He yells as he dives for cover, drawing his blaster almost without thought and firing off two shots at the same time that the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic activates the two lightsabers in his hands.

The red blades ignite only for a moment before the stun bolts hit home and the old man drops like a sack of rotten tubers.

In the charged silence that follows, Stone and the Jedi Masters slowly step out from their various covers to stare down at the collapsed heap that is the unconscious body of the Chancellor.

“Where… did he get those?” Master Che asks, slowly lowering the medi-pad she’d used to shield her face (and not much else).

Stone can answer that.

“The Senate Historical Archives,” he says, holstering his blaster and planting his fists at his hips. He’ll definitely have to call this in.

“Pardon?” General Kolar says, frowning slightly.

“Yeah, the Historical Archives? He’s got a bunch of artefacts from the Sith Wars and what-not,” he says, waving a hand dismissively as he tries to recall the code for forcibly detaining the head of state on the basis of mental incompetence.

“The what?” General Windu asks, sounding marginally alarmed, which is enough to draw Stone’s attention. From what he’s heard, General Windu simply doesn’t get alarmed— it’s not in his programming, or something.

“The… Archives?” He explains haltingly, looking from one suspicious-looking Jedi Master to the next. “There’s a few holocrons and weird statues and stuff? Kinda weird, the Guard’s not really allowed in there, but it’s secure enough— only opens with the Chancellor’s biometric signature.”

“I… see…” General Fisto says, blinking his large eyes emphatically.

Behind him, Master Che reaches slowly into a drawer while keeping her eyes fixed upon the Chancellor and takes out what is clearly a tranquiliser gun.

Without saying a word, she shoots the Chancellor twice more.

Watching her clearly contemplate dosing the unconscious man a third time, Stone nods approvingly as he recalls the Senate Aide/rampant addict in 500 Republica who wouldn’t stay down despite eating no less than six stun blasts at close range after shooting up with a truly incredible amount of Spice.

Better safe than sorry.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim instead of working on literally any of my WIPs I hate myself right now.
> 
> Drop a comment on how you think Anakin’s gonna take this because I refuse to write it.
> 
> If you spot any errors, let me know 😩


End file.
